change

Life changes, a truth we must accept. Time carries us in its ebb and flow, always towards tomorrow. My own life is moving towards a new chapter. None of my children are babies anymore. In three weeks I will be the mom of an 18-year-old, an adult in the eyes of most of the world and definitely in the eyes of the law. I don’t feel old enough or mature enough to be the parent of an adult but on October 11 that will become part of my résumé, along with also being the parent of a kindergartener.

My youngest, who celebrated his fourth birthday over the summer, is enjoying the challenge and excitement of being in Kindergarten. His mornings are full of new children, new toys and new experiences and then he spends his afternoons with me, visiting our favourite haunts, reading and having quiet time.

It is a slow letting go but in that letting go my life is changing. I am pursuing my sacred living studies and honing my skills as a birth worker, healer and a women’s health educator. I spend time playing with words and emotions, sharing the results on my blog and connecting with a social web of like-minded people. I spend time nurturing my own evolving persona which involves the physical practice of releasing the baggage that has weighed me down for too long and a cracking open of the armour that has imprisoned me under the guise of protection. It is a process of learning and exchanging old beliefs for new beliefs. New beliefs that embrace possibility and redefine my relationships with the natural world around me and the people in that world.

I am changing my inner dialogue, beginning to truly believe I am worthy, worthy of being called a good mother, worthy of being loved, worthy of following my dreams, worthy of opening my arms and my heart to the world and in turn worthy of finding and keeping friends who reflect my soul and heart back to me.

For the first time since I was teenager, I am looking towards the future with happiness, believing that the path before me is leading me towards self-fulfillment. I am not afraid of the changes ahead, I am embracing them. Tired of feeling broken, lost and angry, I am ready to trade those negative emotions in for ones that will serve me into the future.

It will take time and patience and self-love. There will be obstacles but a change of perspective turns obstacles into challenges that nurture growth. Words are so powerful and I’m learning how to use them to empower myself to change my present and my future.

Change is constant. I can’t stop it but I can embrace it, love it and own my place within its ebb and flow.

I am in a very dark head space. That is why I have not been writing. I don’t want to share how I feel because admitting to it means admitting I’m losing the battle with my depression.

I have better days. I didn’t write a to-do list this past week but Monday through Wednesday I worked hard to spend time doing the things I want to be doing. Reading with my daughter. Playing with my son. Turning off the computer more. Just trying to focus on the little things.

It’s hard to keep it up….every day….when I just feel utterly miserable inside… all the time….

Most days I barely drag myself out of bed. Just the act of waking up reminds me of my pain, and all I want is to cry, yet I can’t even find relief in tears. I push them down and force myself to get out of bed and do the bare necessities of what needs doing. Get my daughter on the bus in the morning with a lunch. Do laundry so my family has clean clothes to wear. Get myself dressed.

Most days I don’t even manage getting dressed. I live in pajamas and yoga pants, and on more occasions than I’d care to actually admit to, I have worn the same clothes for nearly 36 hours straight.

As a human being I feel like a complete and utter failure.

I feel beaten up. My bruises invisible to the world so there are few words of comfort or understanding. Mostly a lot of messages of “just deal with it” and “why can’t you manage this?”, even if they aren’t said in so many words and many come disguised as words of encouragement.

I took a college course in the spring of 2013 on communication. I loved it. One of the exercises the teacher had us do was draw a picture of an object that represented how we felt.

I drew a black hole.

I drew a black hole because it felt like my whole life was being sucked into one and no matter how hard I fought against it, everything, including myself, was being pulled in. It was dark and angry and destructive.

Then the teacher asked us to take that same image and change it, turn it into a positive image. At the time I couldn’t do it. I just stared at the page and swirled my black pen around and around, making the black hole bigger and darker. I didn’t see anything positive in that black hole or its existence in my life.

But what if there is….

In science fiction there is a theory that a black hole is a gateway between worlds or galaxies, that while its immense gravity pulls everything into it and initially destroys it, something different is reconstructed from the pieces on the other side. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. Either way it’s a one way trip, you are changed forever.

Surrendering to the pull of the black hole is overwhelming and my first instinct is to fight against it with all my might, holding to the familiar, holding to the comforting lull of even the most destructive habits because it’s all I know, and while it hurts, it’s pain I’m familiar with.

The act of being deconstructed is violent and painful. My whole life must flex and break, shattering everything that was so that there is room for the new, and it requires a level of trust in the universe that I will admit I don’t currently possess. A trust that the universe has a better plan for me.

Does it?

I have seen glimpses of a better world for myself. I’m afraid to reach out and take it. I’m afraid to let go of the doubt, the self-loathing, the destructive voices in my head that convince me I’m not good enough, not good enough to be a doula or birth instructor, that I’m not good enough to be a mom or wife, that I’m not good enough to even be me. Failure becomes my only option because it’s the only thing I’ve convinced myself I’m good at, and the voices constantly remind me of my short-comings. I’m just not good enough…

But what if I am?

What if accepting that I, as I am right now, am good enough, and letting go of all the burdens of angst and anger that weigh me down is the first step of surrendering to the pull of the black hole and allowing the process of deconstruction to happen, so that I can find out what I’m truly capable of?

I just have to be willing to surrender to it.

To take the risk.

To believe I can survive being pulled apart at the very essence of my soul and then be put back together again.

I really, really, really want to but I’m completely and utterly terrified…. What if the result of this cosmic deconstruction means the end of my family as I know it? What if I end up losing some really important stuff a long the way? What if, what if, what if…. There are so many what ifs…

Thus I remain trapped between what is and what could be, frozen by my fear, imprisoned by my loneliness, ensnared by my pain and betrayed by my anger. I just find myself wondering how much worse things can get before the power of the black hole sucks me in and forces the changes on me, willingly or unwillingly?